Son of the beast
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Sherlock always knew John was special, incredibly special, and he decided that the Yard should also see how special his flatmate truly is. However; a parental visit threatens to change his view on his doctor completely. John/Sherlock


**AN-**Hello people! I was recently clearing out my computer (again) and I found this. Enjoy!

As always, please review.

B  
>x<p>

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><p><strong>Son of the beast<strong>

Everything had been going fine for the boys at Baker Street. Sherlock wasn't entirely his usual self but that was more to do with the angel he had fallen head over heels for. John hated it when he was called an angel. He wasn't. He just happened to have large sandy coloured feathers wings. He had spent most of his life with them folded flat against his body and by wearing clothes that were a couple of sizes to large they were nigh on invisible. Unless you were the worlds only consulting detective, it seems that for them it was obvious. It had only taken Sherlock two weeks to convince John that he could stretch them out around the flat. It had taken another three months but he had finally got the doctor to say he wouldn't fold them anymore, even in public.

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><p>The two men arrived at the crime scene that Lestrade had directed them to. Sherlock had gotten straight to work with John walking behind him. When the doctor entered the room there was a gasp from each and every person, except for his flatmate. He ignored it, he was work to be done. The ex army medic checked the body over under Sherlock's watchful gaze, what he was watching however...<p>

'Dead for at least 48 hours. But I don't think more than 72. Died from blunt-force trauma to the back of the neck. She fought the attacker quite fiercely.' He said standing up. Of the first time, he noticed the group staring at him.

'What?' He asked.

'Y-you. But how?' Sergeant Donavan asked bewildered. John cast his eyes over to Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. This is what he had wanted to avoid. Well this and being taken away so people in white lab coats could conduct experiments on him. Sherlock sent back an innocent look and the doctor rolled his eyes.

'Ok. I will not say this again or answer any questions. I've always been like this. Yes, they're real and yes I can fly if I so wish. I fold them against me so people don't know I have them but that person over there told me I should hide them. They might look nice but they are a pain to clean and always get ruffled. No you can't touch them. Ok? Can we get back to the dead body now?' He asked harshly. Sherlock pecked him on the cheek and stocked his hand down the soft feathers.

'God, I love you.' He murmured. The soldier blushed as he stretched into the contact in much the same way as a cat getting his head tickled would.

'Stop.' He gasped. 'You're doing that on purpose.' The doctor pushed Sherlock's hand away and shook his wings, trying to get rid of the tickling sensation his flatmates fingers had left. The detective smirked shamelessly. DI Lestrade coughed politely and gestured to the body,

'As the good doctor said, shall we get back to the body?' He asked Sherlock. The man immediately looked bored.

'You can cross out the best friend. Bring in the housekeeper and the maid. If there stories are the same then it's the brother.' He said quickly, eyeing up his flatmate while he spoke. 'Well, we're done now so we'll be off.' Without waiting for a reply, the detective grabbed John and dragged him out of the room.

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><p>Once outside, John turned on his flatmate.<p>

'What was that?' He asked expectantly, tapping his foot and folding his wings back. Sherlock gave his innocent face again and the doctors jaw set. He grabbed his flatmate, much to said mans surprise, and unfurled his feathered limbs.

'Whoa, now John-' Sherlock said, trying to pull away. The DI and his team stood in the doorway, barely holding back the collect amusement. 'Please John, don't. Lestrade, stop him.' He called to the DI in the doorway. Lestrade put his hands up as a signal he was staying out of this argument. The soldier raised an eyebrow then held his screaming flatmate close, leaping into the air.

'My my, could it be that Sherlock Holmes is afraid of flying?' The doctor asked when they were about four metres off the ground.

'Fuck off.' Grumbled the detective as he clung tight, wrapping his legs round John's waist. The doctor chuckled then flew higher, wings beating at a steady pace. Now that they were above the rooftops, John began the journey home. He had the chance to stretch and exercise properly and nothing in hell was going to stop him from taking it. Sherlock, as it turns out, wasn't just afraid of flying, he was absolutely terrified. He held tight and closed his eyes against the soft woollen jumper and prayed that the ordeal would be over soon. The soldier carefully set his feet down on the pavement outside the flat.

'I'm sorry.' He murmured as he unwrapped the detectives legs and placed him down gently. 'Forgive me?' The detective stumbled and glared at him but soon sighed, the doctors genuinely sorry expression, soft eyes and ruffled slightly hair just undid him.

'You will pay for this later.' He said without heat.

* * *

><p>They walked into 221b Baker Street, John laughing at Sherlock trying to attempt walking up the stairs before hoisting him into a bridal lift and carrying him the rest of the way. The tears of glee were almost streaming from their eyes as they opened the door. They fell in a heap against the door, finally controlling themselves from the unexpected outbursts.<p>

'It's nice to see you're enjoying yourself, son.' A well spoken man said. The doctor leapt up, wide eyed in shock.

'Dad? What the hell are you doing here?' He asked ludicrously. Sherlock looked carefully at the intruder, curious to see what the parent of his flatmate looked like. The man was short, had slicked black hair and a thin frame. He was wearing a pin-striped business suit which heightened his movements as he shrugged his shoulders.

'I don't know. I was in the area and thought I'd just pop in to see how you're doing.' He answered. 'It's a nice place you have here. Though I didn't expect the model. I thought you were past all that.' John choked.

'He doesn't seem to be comfortable with you here.' Sherlock said. 'If you want to visit then call and we'll find out when we're free.' He said coldly. The fact that John didn't like the man was enough for Sherlock to want him out. 'How did you even get in here anyway?' He asked pointedly. The man in the suit scoffed.

'Johnny clearly hasn't been very forthcoming when it comes to family, has he?' He sneered.

'Dad.' The doctor said warningly, his feathers were beginning to raise like the hairs on a cats back.

'No Johnny. It's not right. It's like you're ashamed to know me. Well I'm hurt.' The grin on his face clear showed he wasn't.

'Just get out.' The soldier said, barely keeping his voice steady. His dad gave him a hard look.

'Very well.' He sighed and drew out a pistol, aiming it at Sherlock. The detective stood wide eyed, taking care not to move.

'No.' John said, jumping in front of his flatmate. 'You can't. He can't be. Why him?' He asked.

'John. What is going on?' The detective whispered, still in shock. John's dad smirked.

'You really don't know what's going on, do you?' He mused gleefully. 'I suppose if I changed attire it might give you a clue.' Even as he spoke, black flames licked his skin and set his clothes on fire. Once the flames had died down, the man wasn't there. In his place stood a cloaked figure with a scythe. Sherlock barked out a laugh in utter surprise.

'You are kidding me.' He said eventually. 'John, why didn't you tell me?' The doctor looked at him.

'Why didn't I tell you? Hey Sherlock, guess what? My dad goes round killing people and dragging them to hell and he loves it. Why? Because he's fucking death. Oh, and by the way, Satan is actually a woman. I know cos she's my fucking mum. I wonder why I didn't tell you.' He snapped. The room descending into silence. The intruder twirled his scythe before speaking.

'Ok Johnny, you've had your fun. Now move. There's a good boy.' John narrowed his eyes.

'No.' He said.

'Come now, son. Don't make this harder than it already is.'

'No. Sherlock is mine. You are to stay away from him.' The soldier growled, his voice suddenly low and resonating.

'Johnny. Could it be that you're claiming someone? I thought you said you would never do that.'

'Shut up and get out.' John said coldly. His dad smiled happily.

'Fine, I'll see you soon, son. And I wish you the best with you… flatmate.' The flames appeared again then he was gone.

* * *

><p>John sighed in relief and flopped onto the sofa.<p>

'God, I am so sorry about that.' He said, not looking in his flatmates direction. Sherlock stayed were he was, seemingly frozen to the spot.

'John? I can't move.' The detective rasped. John stood immediately.

'Shit. Uh ok. I give you back your individuality. You have your free will. And you control your own actions. Ok. You can move now.' He said. His flatmate took a breath and stepped forward.

'What's just happened?' He asked, voice shaking slightly. John pulled him into a comforting hug, wrapping his wings around them both, blocking out the rest of the world.

'I've just claimed you. It's basically that you now belong to me. My possession, and I'm sorry, but it was either that or you being taken away from me.' John said. Sherlock laughed and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He pulled his flatmate away to look at him. Sherlock took the hint.

'I just find it funny that you're so cut up about this. I've been relying on you since the day we met. Just because it's now official, you feel the need to apologise. It's just so you.' He answered.

'Yes. No. you don't get it Sherlock. I've just signed you up to an eternity serving me. The moment I let you go, you will go straight to hell. No chance of getting anywhere else. I didn't even give you a choice.' The doctor said, choking on the world. Sherlock smiled softly, something he hadn't done in many years. Or ever.

'You'll just have to never let me go then.' He answered. John smiled. The phone rang in Sherlock's pocket and John automatically reached and pulled it out, passing it to his flatmate. As the detective took the mobile, they shared a look and immediately burst out laughing. To the outside world John was Sherlock's puppy, the one who followed his flatmate round hoping for a treat. The fact that it was the other way round was hilarious.

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><p>The call was from Lestrade (two cases in one day? What the hell is going on at Scotland Yard) telling them there had been another murder. The two looked at each other and we out of the door in a heartbeat.<p>

'So you don't want to fly again?' John teased. Sherlock stopped and cocked his head the way he did when he got an idea.

'John?' He asked, 'If you told me I must enjoy flying with you, would I?' John blinked, he hadn't thought about that.

'Sherlock, we are flying there and you will enjoy it.' He growled before smiling. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the other mans neck and they took off. When they were a few metres off the ground, Sherlock looked down and laughed, he'd never been so far off solid ground before-running on rooftops didn't count.

'This is brilliant.' He said. John chuckled, it seemed that the claiming had some good effects after all. The started in the direction of the crime scene.

Lestrade looked utterly surprised when the two men set down in fits of giggles. Sherlock purposely ruffled John's feathers then ran to hide behind the detective inspector.

'Sherlock Holmes, you get back here and sort this out!' John shouted playfully. Though he pretended to think about it, they both know that he would have to since he had been ordered.

'Sherlock.' the doctor warned, tapping his foot. The detective pouted but walked back to him and straightened the skewed feathers, mumbling that paybacks are hell. The surprise on the DI's face turned to shock. He had spent the best part of seven years trying to control hurricane that was Sherlock Holmes then this man comes along and has the detective wrapped round his finger in less than half a year.

'You both know that there is a body to see, don't you?' He said, still bewildered. John sobered up immediately but Sherlock scoffed.

'It's dead, it isn't going to go anywhere.' He said. John raised an eyebrow. 'Not good?'

* * *

><p>The doctor didn't have to answer. They walked into the crime scene, hands brushing each other but not actually holding. Anderson sneered as they walked past. Sherlock was about to fire insults but he was ushered into the room by a wing. The soldier didn't want his good mood destroyed because of the idiot posing as a forensic detective. The body was in the same position as the last. After a quick check, the doctor confirmed that it was the same cause of death. His flatmates eyes sparkled when the DI said that the body was that of the house maid. The rest of the police force took a noticeable step backwards as the consulting detective began firing deductions, knowing that getting in his way could literally end a career. John smiled as his flatmate told Lestrade how to find the killer and how useless Scotland Yard was. Anderson appeared among the crowd.<p>

'Hey Sherlock, maybe you should clip birdies wings so he can't fly away when he realises how much of a nutcase you are.' He said. Sherlock's head whipped round to him.

'You don't have enough worth to address me-' The consulting detective began but was cut off by a short 'Sherlock' from his flatmate. He looked at the doctor, eyes clearly displaying the full force of his contempt. John gave him a glance and held his shoulders.

'I'll settle this.' He said before turning to the Yard officer who was the cause most of their troubles. 'Anderson, when you can control the state of your own affairs you can comment on those of others. I have put up with you and stop more fights than I care to count-' His voice turned hard. 'but if you _dare_ insult my Sherlock again I will destroy you.' His eyes became dark orbs as he spoke and the police force felt the room temperature plummet. Suddenly, the cute and cuddly Dr Watson wasn't so cute and cuddly any more. And that was the thing that scared them most. The doctor smiled and in a blink his eyes were blue once again.

'Are we finished here?' He asked Sherlock who nodded numbly and quietly made his way out of the room.

Sherlock had remained silent all the way back to the flat. John decided that he might have taken it a bit too far but the look of terror on Andersons face more than made up for it. Not to mention that he could guarantee that they wouldn't get insulted again. At least to their faces, which was all he wanted. Once inside, the consulting detective lay on the sofa still deep inside his own mind. John decided to give him some space to get things into perspective and made them both tea.

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><p>Two hours later, Sherlock still hadn't moved. His phone had gone off twice and he hadn't bothered to get it or to even ask John to get it for him. The doctor pressed his lips together, it wasn't like Sherlock hadn't ever spent hours staring at the ceiling before, it was that he still seemed shaken by what had happened. The blond doctor perched on the sofa by his flatmates waist.<p>

'Sherlock.' He cooed. 'Look at me.' The man turned his head to him. 'I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to scare you as well.'

'I'm not scared.' He said defensively. John raised an eyebrow and he squirmed slightly.

'Sure. And I'm actually a chicken.' He replied sarcastically.

'You've got the wings for it.' Sherlock said then looked in terror at John. Who looked at his wings, stretching them out.

'Be careful, dear, these wings alone could pin you down.' The doctor answered. His partner smirked.

'Prove it.'

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><p>The next few minutes were filled with yells of surprise and demands of 'let me go!' but Sherlock found out to soon at the army veteran wasn't one to back out of a dare. Outside, the DI and a small group listened into the strange noises coming from the flat. They shared a worried look and burst in to find the consulting detective squirming under a feathered wing that held him firmly to the sofa cushions.<p>

'Say it.' John said. Sherlock glared at him.

'Never.' He hissed. The doctor shrugged and looked at his watch.

'Well, I can wait.' He answered calmly. John turned his head in the direction of the polite cough which came from the DI. Sherlock couldn't, but he knew who it was.

'What do you want Lestrade?' He asked with as much dignity as he could muster.

'We thought the worst, Sherlock hadn't answered his phone.' He replied, trying to figure out what was going on. The detective sighed and John smirked, knowing that he had won.

'Ok, fine. You were right and I was wrong. Now let me up you great feathered chicken.' Sherlock growled. The doctor chuckled and lifted his wing, flicking the feathers under his flatmates chin, a known ticklish spot. After a few moments worth of squirming, Sherlock stood trying to regain his dignity.

'So Lestrade, what is it you wished to discuss?' He asked calmly. The detective inspector coughed.

'Well, it's not so much you as John.' He answered. Sherlock looked shocked for a millisecond then gestured for him to continue. 'Uh, John. Would you mind if we went somewhere more private?' He asked.

'Yes I would. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of Sherlock.' The soldier snapped. He had an inkling to where this was heading and he didn't like it one bit.

'Ok then. Well, I'm sorry but we're going to have to take you in. Anderson filed a report against you and… well, you know how this works.' He produced a pair of handcuffs.

'No. Absolutely not.' Sherlock interrupted. John sighed and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

'Don't. Just don't. I knew this would happen eventually. You are to stay here, I don't want you trying to break me out or getting yourself thrown in jail.' He leant forward and whispered into the other man's ear. 'By the way, that was an order, just in case you thought you might try.' Sherlock scowled, knowing he was officially helpless. John turned back to the DI.

'Do you have to cuff me?' He asked. Lestrade nodded.

'It's protocol.' He answered.

'Ok, just give me a second then.' The doctor answered, raising his arms. His wings folded flat against his body and he lowered his arms again, shifting them into a comfortable position behind his back. Lestrade moved forward and snapped the handcuffs in place, securing them so they weren't too tight. Sherlock looked away and sat s far away from the group as possible.

'I told you he didn't care for you.' Sally muttered as they left.

* * *

><p>The holding cell was bare, well it would be- it was a police station holding cell. John sat on the concrete seat. His wings were still folded against him, this somehow made people less afraid even though they could still see the feathers. He had been in the cell for well over an hour now and no one had come in to see him. There hadn't been an interview, not that he expected one, so he hadn't even seen a police officer since he entered the Yard. The soldiers shoulder ached mercilessly and no about of massaging or rolling it seemed to do anything to help. The door opened suddenly, much to John's surprise and he turned to see who was paying him a visit.<p>

'Good evening Dr Watson.' Came the well formed voice of Mycroft Holmes.

'Mycroft, what the hell are you doing here?' The doctor asked.

'No, my brother didn't tell me anything but I'm sure you knew he wouldn't. Or couldn't.' The accusation was clear in his voice and John shivered under the force of it. 'But, I do have my own sources and my contacts which have allowed me to clear your record once again. You are a free man, Dr Watson.' He said, stepping aside to allow the other man to leave. John raised an eyebrow but stood up. When he was level with the government official, the man gripped his arm. 'It's been a long day for you and I would be delighted to give you a lift home.' Which was Holmes speak for 'You can either come with me now by choice or I can force you to when we get outside.' The doctor didn't argue, he knew better.

The black car pulled away from just outside Scotland Yard a few minutes later. John ignored the strange glances he got as he walked out with the man with the umbrella. Only one person knew how said man was and he was currently cowering-sorry _filing paperwork_-in his office. Inside the car, John turned to the elder Holmes brother, wanting to both run away and also get over with the conversation as quickly as possible.

'So you've claimed my brother.' Mycroft said eventually.

'Yes.'

'And that was to save him from being taken to hell by your dad. Correct?'

'Yes, it is.'

'And, on a tangent, your mother is the ruler of hell which makes you the cross between death and a fallen angel.'

'Yes.'

'Hmm… I suppose it's a good thing that I know this to be fact.' John was about to say yes again when he realised what had just been said. Mycroft smiled. 'You're not the only one with mixed parents, though I suppose your are the extreme. Father was a fallen angel, he and mummy had me and my brother before he was found by the corp. on high and disposed off, they don't hold favour with deserters up there. Sherlock doesn't know, he was only three at the time so we decided it would be best for him to never know. I would hope you keep it that way.' He said delicately.

'Yes, of course.' The doctor replied, it put everything into perspective, especially why they were both so smart. The elder Holmes nodded to himself then opened the door, John hadn't realised that they had stopped.

'I wish you look on your next conversation.' Mycroft called as he closed the door. The air was decidedly chilly- Britain, fastly approaching winter, at half six in the evening, chilly doesn't even begin to describe it- John couldn't decide whether he preferred being frozen to going inside and facing his flatmate. Another gust of wind wrapped round him and he quickly opened the door.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was sat in exactly the same place as he was when John was bundled out of the flat.<p>

'Sherlock, I'm sorry.' John said. The consulting detective ignored him. 'You'd have only gotten yourself in trouble as well.' No reply. 'Come on Sherlock, don't be like this.' His flatmate scowled at him then stood up.

'What's the point? Why don't you just tell me what to do? It's not like I'm my own anymore, I'm yours. You could make me get along with my brother, it was clearly him who got you out. In fact, while we're at it, why don't you tell me how to think? I can be your yes-man. I bet you'd love that.' Sherlock spat. John looked taken back and the detective took this as his que to leave and go into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. John immediately went to the bedroom door.

'Sherlock, let me in.' He called. There was no response. 'Please?'

'Why don't you just order me to?' Came the sarky reply. The doctor sighed.

'I'm not going to force you, Sherlock. I just want to talk.'

'Well talk then.' He snapped from inside the room.

'I want to talk face to face. Properly.' John said, knowing all too well that he was fighting a losing battle.

'Tough.' Snapped his flatmate.

'Ok, fine. I'm getting a takeaway. Don't tell me you're not hungry because you haven't eaten in five days. I'll get the usual.' Sighed the soldier, putting on a jacket and opening the door again.

When John got back, Sherlock was still in his room. The doctor placed the food on the table then went to his flatmates bedroom door.

'I've got the food.' He called. 'Are you going to come out?' For a moment there was silence then a rustling sound followed by footsteps as the detective made his way to the door. The locked clicked open and the door opened. Sherlock stepped out, not looking at the doctor, and made his way to the table. The two men ate in silence. Sherlock wouldn't talk and John wasn't going to try and get him to. They finished and John took the plates and bags into the kitchen. When he came back, Sherlock had slipped back into his room and locked the door again. The soldier sighed and produced a note and a bouquet of flowers. He placed the note outside of Sherlock's bedroom door then went down the stairs to find Mrs Hudson. She took the flowers without a word, seeing the look in his eyes, and patted him on the shoulder.

'Keep yourself safe dear and there'll always be a place for you here if you want to come back.' She said softly. He nodded then walked outside, unfurling his wings again. The night was cold but he didn't care. Sherlock might be his possession but that didn't mean that they had to always be within three metres of each other. If Sherlock didn't want to know him, then John wouldn't force his presence. The detective was a character who couldn't be caged. He tried it just the once and suddenly it was like his flatmates entire reason for existing had been pull away from him. If there was one thing that John knew, it was that he wouldn't do it again. An updraft caught the underside of his wings, ruffling the feathers and the doctor shook himself. With one last look at 221b Baker Street he shot into the skies. From somewhere below him he thought he heard someone call him back but he continued higher. It was just the wind, after all.

* * *

><p>Sherlock listened to his flatmate move round their home. Something was place outside his door and he itched to wretch the wooden object open and apologise to his doctor. But he was Sherlock Holmes and he never would and John knew that. The front door opened then closed and the detective heard steps go down the stairs. Less than a second later, Sherlock found himself tearing into a letter. His eyes raced across the words.<p>

_Sherlock,_

_I'm sorry for everything. It isn't fair to keep you caged but neither can I let you go, knowing what would be your fate. So I'm leaving. Be careful, you can't die so don't go doing something stupid just to prove a point. _

_Sorry again,_

_John_

The detective ran out of the flat just as his partner flew off. He shouted but the other man didn't seem to hear. Sherlock stood in the now freezing air, looking up into the skies as if it would bring his only friend back to him.

* * *

><p>And that was how Mrs Hudson found him at seven in the morning, stood in trousers and a thin shirt looking to the skies. She quickly bundled him into the house and called his brother. Mycroft wasn't best pleased. He got his assistant to send a message calling all forces. If they see Dr John Watson they are to bring him in without harming him. It was funny that he had to add the without harming part but the British armed forces and secret forces and, well, any British force seemed to like unnecessary violence. Sherlock was a mess, he didn't speak or even acknowledge anyone's presence. The doctor that the elder Holmes brought with his checked his little brother over and found that he was very lucky, there was nothing particularly wrong with him. He said to wrap the man up warm and get him to eat something warm, like soup. The government official sighed, knowing only one of those requests was likely to happen.<p>

'Sherlock, we're wrapping you in a blanket we found upstairs. You need to eat.' Said a small woman who was part of the group Mycroft had brought with him. As soon as the fabric touched his skin, Sherlock leapt up.

'No.' He growled. Every person in the room, bar his brother, looked affronted at the sudden change.

'Come on, Sherlock, it's just a blanket.' She said.

'It is John's blanket. John's. I am John's and I am going to find him.' He replied, mostly to himself, as he grabbed his coat and slipped into his scarf.

'Sherlock, you can't leave while you're like this.' The woman said, horrified. She was about to stop him when the elder Holmes put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him and gestured to the lanky detective about to say how he shouldn't go out but she was cut off before she started.

'If he wants to go, he will go and the more you try to stop him, the more he will try to get away.' Mycroft said swiftly. 'We are done here.' Then he turned and left with the small group in his wake. Sherlock watched them leave then tied his shoes quickly and running outside, yelling to Ms Hudson that he was bringing John back.

* * *

><p>Now he was outside, Sherlock realised he didn't have the faintest idea how to find John. So he closed his eyes and searched until he felt a line. It was pulling him to go in a certain direction and was something he had never felt before. Curiosity got the better of him and he followed it, running down streets and through parks.<p>

He got to the centre of a park just under fifteen miles away from the flat. The whole time he had followed, the pull had got stronger. He looked up to the rooftops where he saw a winged silhouette against the moons pale light. Before he could think, he was running again, through the streets to that house and up the emergency steps to the roof.

'John!' He called. The figure turned to him then prepared to take off again. 'No!' He yelled, grabbing on to the jumper. John turned to him.

'Let go Sherlock. I'm not good for you.' The man answered. Sherlock clung tight.

'No. I will not.' He replied forcefully.

'Don't make me make that an order.' The doctor said with a sigh.

'I don't care if you do. I'm not letting go.' Sherlock growled. The other man raised an eyebrow.

'Just go back. Forget about me, do what you do. Delete me.' John said, trying to force his flatmates hands off him but the mans grip was too tight.

'How could I? There's something that pull me towards you and I can't delete that. I would always follow it and I would always come back to you. I could never forget you. Being away is tearing me apart.' The detective said, barely keeping his voice from cracking. John looked at him.

'So that's how you found me.' He muttered. 'Do you want me to come back, if I do I can't promise I won't order you ever again.' Sherlock gave he the look he gave Anderson when he was being particularly stupid.

'I've ran across London looking for you, I think that shows I've made my mind up. Just don't leave me.' He said before realising what it sounded like. John smiled evilly at him.

'I think someone has a crush.' He muttered in jest. Sherlock scowled.

'It is not a crush.' He said gruffly. John chuckled and captured his face in his hand.

'Well that's a shame, so what is it?' Sherlock looked that him and held them both close to each other.

'It's this.' He answered, bring his face down to the other lips. John felt like the world had caught on fire around them. He deepened the kiss and felt the taller man melt. Everything seemed white hot and out of focus. They broke apart after what seemed like a lifetime, it turned out that though he was now immortal, Sherlock still needed to breath. They smiled at each other and John sat down on the edge of the building, dragging the detective onto his lap.

'It's beautiful up here.' He said, staring up at the surprisingly cloudless skies. Sherlock slipped his hand under his masters jumper to run his fingers across the soft skin underneath.

'Hmm, I'll have to take your word for it.' He replied snuggling into the warmth. John laughed.

'Wow. I hope you're not going down the cliché route, you know how I despise them.' He chided. Sherlock smirked warily.

'No. I just don't want to look.' John raised an eyebrow.

'Why?' He asked.

'I just don't.' The detective soundly like a stubborn child.

'Of course!' The doctor exclaimed. Sherlock froze.

'What?' He asked pointedly. John smirked evilly and played with the end of Sherlock's scarf.

'You're afraid of heights.'


End file.
